


All those times.

by hydrogendisco



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, ew poetic, no death this time I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrogendisco/pseuds/hydrogendisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote poetry and it turned into this...don't read if you don't like it ok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All those times.

There are times when you look like a porcelain doll.

I watch from my doorway, keeping one hand on my door in case you turn around. Your jet black hair covers the eye nearest to me, highlighting the flecks of amber in your iris. Your skin is such a peculiar shade of white, the kind that makes you want to run your fingers all over it. Your eyes are flared with anger towards our parents, partnering with your equally pale mouth to make a torrent of anger. You look; I hate to say it, perfect. My breath catches a little in my throat as you turn so I can see your full face. You look like you’ve been airbrushed using a computer program only professionals can work. I disappear back into my room; something twists inside of me and tells me that my thoughts are sick. I know it’s right.

There are times when you look like a wreck.

You’re walking towards me, down a corridor in the hospital. Your eyes are sunken deep into your skull, with no light shining behind them. Deep purple rings hang solemnly on your cheekbones and I can’t tell if they’re from lack of sleep or the fight you had last week. Your hair is getting too long and has far too many split ends which jaggedly point in all directions. It’s greasy from the lack of washing. Your eyes are a deadly shade of black, but that may just be the lighting. You brush against a nurse walking the opposite direction and I see your eyes flare a little. You shout something abusive towards her and she hurries off looking aghast. You smile to yourself and I can’t help but notice how dreadful you look. But in some twisted way, I like it. 

There are times when you can never be brought down.

I hear you before I see you. My heart begins to race the minute I hear your keys in the lock and I try to suppress my excitement. Mum and Dad are out all day, so I’ve been home alone for a while. You call out to me in such a way that I begin to believe you’re drunk again. You haven’t been this cheerful in a while, I think as I enter the living room where you’re perched on a red leather sofa. Your black hair (which you’ve cut now) is slightly flicky at the ends and hangs over one of your eyes a tiny bit. It brings out the jet black eye liner around your amber eyes beautifully. I’ve given up trying to stop myself thinking you’re pretty, because I can’t stop the truth. You grin at me so your vampire-like teeth point over your moist bottom lip. I smile back, though a lot more timidly. Your ruffle my hair and my skin feels electric at your touch, then you say the words which I’ve been dreading for the last two months;

‘I’ve got myself a girlfriend,’

There are times when you can never be brought up again.

You storm into my room like a hurricane on a rampage. I can’t work out from your face what’s wrong, only that your eyes are that dull brown which means you’re not excited. I’ve learnt how to tell your exact emotion from your eyes, hair and skin by now, but I’ve never come across this before. I ask you carefully what’s wrong from my desk chair, trying to act casual and ignore the fact that you look so sexy when you bite your lip. You answer something which I thought I’d never hear. Something that makes me feel so guilty, but so wickedly pleased at the same time. You told me you’d been dumped. I try to stop my heart from beating so fast and my palms sweating but I can’t; at all. I talk to you for a while, keeping a steady pace with my words. I’ve always found it easy to speak to you but now it’s like there’s a blade stuck in my throat. Whatever I say you push back down, not even trying to be cheerful. I accept this after a while and, instead of speaking, I sit beside you on my bed. I don’t know what happens next but I feel your arms close around me for the first time since I was 6. A hug is apparently all it takes for me to fall in love. 

You’re a wave of emotion, that’s crashing constantly against harsh shores.

You smile at me, which hasn’t happened in a while. You’ve tried to regain yourself after breaking up with your short-term girlfriend, but it’s obvious you’ve been crying. Your once ringed with black eyes are now puffy and watery. Your skin is ghostly pale, but without the use of make-up as you haven’t been outside in weeks. You’ve brushed your hair for once, but it’s still slightly greasy and hangs limply just above your chin. I smile at you, ready to walk out as I’m heading out of town with Mum and Dad for the day. You refused to come, insisting that you had work to do. I know you’ll sit around screaming along to love ballads like you have been doing for a while now. You’re holding your arms tough against your sides and I can’t help but detect a hint of pain in your eyes, as if something is forcing you to stand there. 

I frown a little and you notice my concern, there’s no one else in the house anymore; our parents are sitting in the car waiting for me. You tilt your left forearm towards me and I blink a little to make sure I’m not mistaken. Ten thin red cuts line your wrist and I feel a lump forming at the back of my throat. You promised me you’d never do this but here we are. I can’t control my feet as I step towards you and before I know it we’re hugging again. For once it feels natural, like it’s supposed to happen, and there are only tiny traces of butterflies floating in my stomach. You promise me you won’t do it again as a single tear slides over your skin. I offer to stay at home with you as we draw apart, our hands slip into each other’s, but you wave me off with a brave smile. I can’t enjoy myself for the whole day, I’m far too worried about you.

You’re a waterfall of anger which never seems to hit a stream

It’s been two days since you hurt yourself, and everytime I close my eyes I see the cuts. You haven’t done it since though, and your eyes have become brighter I’m sure. You storm past me in the hallway then, eyes blazing with fury. It reminds me of the time you slapped Mum for saying that I wouldn’t get anywhere in life and shouted her down. I shudder at the memory, remembering the rage you worked yourself into. Your eyes are red like you’ve been crying but have rubbed away the tears too viciously. I catch your arm as you pass which makes you spin around on the spot and glare at me. You haven’t given me such a deathly look since I insulted one of your friends and it makes my blood run cold. We’ve been so close recently, always telling the truth (well most of the time) and never letting eachother get upset. I ask you what’s wrong but you just shake your head and look at the floor as if it’s a piece of shit. I ask you again and you shout at me to leave you alone. I feel myself turn bright red as you hurtle back to your room once more. I didn’t know you had the capacity to hurt me like this. 

And you’re an anxiety filled river, never finding an ocean.

I walk into your room a little while after you’ve shouted at me after dithering in the corridor for some time. You’re curled over on your bed and for a moment I think you’re sleeping. You roll over to face me and wipe a tear from your cheek hastily. Your hair is damp where you’ve been using it as a handkerchief to dry your eyes and your face is streaked with red lines, each one showing the paths the water has taken down your cheeks. You smile, which is a relief to me. I let my shoulders relax and smile sympathetically back at you. I walk silently over to your bed and perch on the edge. It’s amazing how far I’ve come, from absolute denial, to pure hatred for you and now admiration more than anything. You sit up and cross your legs so you can stare at me, your hair is getting to that slightly-too-long stage. I look down as your eyes pierce through my own and fiddle with a thread on my black jeans. 

‘You gonna tell me what’s wrong now?’ I say eventually, not looking up at you. I feel you shuffle over to sit beside me. Your weight against my own makes me want to shudder, as any contact with you does. I think you feel that and press a little harder against my arm with yours. I look at you as the room falls silent and see you biting the right side of your bottom lip. I’ve never noticed how much I want to push my own mouth against yours before, but now it’s stronger than ever. Your eyes meet mine suddenly and I could swear your pupils dilate a little. Maybe that’s just my daydreaming colliding with real life though. 

‘I think I love you, Mikes.’ You say, with that sweet regret in your voice. It takes me a minute to process what you’ve said, but when I do my stomach lurches ridiculously violently. I stare at you. You stare at me. You’re biting your lip again, constantly worried by your own thoughts.   
‘I think I love you too, Gee.’ I manage to say, not wanting you to think that I’m freaked out by you. You smile at me. I smile at you. Then you’re leaning towards me and our lips collide. It’s the exact electric feeling that I’ve been wanting to experience since that night where you stood in the corridor shouting and I watched without you knowing. 

But boy you’re worth it to me. 

I’m unaware of your presence until your pale arms snake around my waist. You make me jump at first, but then I realise that it’s you and relax back to my usual stance. I’m standing waiting for the kettle to boil, drumming my fingers against the worktop. The sun’s shining through the net curtains, casting shadows over everything. I spin around with little effort and find myself face to face with your breath taking eyes which shine every colour in the late morning sun. Your hair is already messy where you slept on it, so I ruffle it playfully and giggle like a preschool girl. I trace the inside of your forearm with my thumb, lightly feeling each time the blade struck your weak skin. You smile at me, before pecking me lightly on the cheek and drawing away slowly. 

As you walk away into the living room, baggy t-shirt accentuating your shoulder blades, I’m reminded of the brother I fell in love with. The brother who has skin as white as a Victorian doll, and hair the colour of the night sky in the cold winters. It’s wrong, yes. It’s so sick and twisted and illegal that even the most bitter of criminals wouldn’t dream of it, but I love you, and no law can change that.


End file.
